


Sandor's Lemon Cake

by Underthenorthernlights



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underthenorthernlights/pseuds/Underthenorthernlights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor finds his Little Bird baking Lemon Cakes in the kitchen of Winterfell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandor's Lemon Cake

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I have posted on this site. Just a little bit of lemony fluff. It's all for fun, enjoy :)
> 
> All characters belong to the great GRRM

 

Sandor stalked through the dark corridors of Winterfell, a slight limp in his stride. He had been looking everywhere for his Little Bird, well Lady Sansa as everyone around here liked to call her. He finally decided to follow the smell of lemon cakes that was luring him through the dark passageways. As he was about to pass by the door that was leading to the great kitchen, he froze mid stride at the scene unfolding before his eyes. The Lady of Winterfell, his Little Bird, was hovering over a heaping pile of glazed lemon cakes, icing sugar dusted over her upturned nose and across her flushed cheeks. Lemon zest was sticking to the exposed part of her collarbone, her aburn hair escaping the loose bun up top her head. His eyes widened, a shot of arousal like he had never felt before instantly sent his cock in command mode. He had always admired her beauty, even still openly leered at her, enjoying how, after being together for sometime, she would blush and stammer every time she noticed his intense steely stare, but he had never seen a vision like this.

 

"Sandor," she giggled, when she noticed the intense sensation of his steely stare, "would you like a lemon cake?" She reached the back of her small hand up and brushed a unruly curl away from her sparkling blue eyes.

 

Sandor snorted and swaggered over to her and shoved three lemon cakes in his mouth, not wanting her to know that he, Sandor Clegane, had for once been rendered speechless by the sight of a delicious little bird. 

 

He slowly chewed, his eyes darkening as he looked at the lemon zest that was sitting pretty on her delicate collarbone. He reached a large hand up and picked it off, flicking it to the stone floor. "What's the Lady doing hiding out in the kitchens?" he rasped. "Might be your banner men and fucking lords are waiting for you in the Great Hall" he growled looking down at her with narrowed eyes, finally meeting hers.

 

"I told my hand maiden to find Uncle Brynden and tell him I feel ill and I need to rest today," she said smiling up at him, her shoulders shrugging at her feeble lie, "The North will be fine for a day."

 

Sandor raised a bushy eyebrow, and then threw his head back and barked the loudest laugh Sansa had heard in ages. "So the little bird is going to play cook and hide out in the kitchen today" he sneered once he composed himself, his steeley eyes eagerly sweeping over the tops of her breasts that were deliciously dusted with powdered sugar. 

 

"Well as my sworn shield and husband, you will be right here beside me, for the rest of the day" she huffed back, turning her back to him. 

 

  
_"Fuck"_ he thought, as he looked at her luscious neck, exposed for the taking. Then he imagined licking the sugar off the tops of her breasts, with a wickedly smug grin.

 

He moved closer towards her back, he loomed over her, snaking his large hand around her waist, grabbing another glazed lemon cake, dropping a quick kiss on the side of her neck in the process. Sansa sucked in a sharp breath as his long hair brushed over top the exposed skin of her collarbone.

 

"Sandor" she barely whispered turning slowly around, her eyes heavily lidded with desire, the crimson blush spreading from her cheeks, down her neck and under her dress. She leaned back and gripped the sides of table, her body naturally arching towards his.

 

He froze, speechless for the second time that day, his hand hovering near his mouth, the lemon cake instantly forgotten. 

 

The usual regal Lady Sansa had before his eyes, turned into a bewitching kitchen wench.

 

Sandor drew up to his full height and towered over her, steel eyes meeting tully blue in a locked stare. Sansa finally broke contact from his eyes and she flicked her eyes to his beard and noticed the little crumbs of lemon cake and followed the crooked path of crumbs that spread down through his neck stubble and disappeared under his tunic. Sansa smiled mischievously.

 

"Your like the maid, in The Bear and Maiden Fair" she giggled, "but that's not honey in your hair it's lemon cake, my favourite!" Sansa laughed flirtatiously, as she started to gently brush the crumbs away. She then tugged on the soft, yet course hair of his beard and tilted her head up, pulling him closer and softly kissed his ruined mouth. Sandor bent into the kiss, his large hand running down her back, his lips tasting the sweetness of hers. He slowly broke away from her, his need ready to rip through his breeches. Sansa started laughing, blushing as she noticed his hardness hitting her belly. Sandor placed the uneaten glazed lemon cake back on the table.

 

Sandor peered down at this laughing, lemon bird. His mouth started twitching furiously as he stuck his chin out and started backing away from her. He could feel The Hound stirring in him. While Sandor would like to take Sansa nice and slow and draw out her climax till she was completely spent, The Hound was more eager to grasp her and throw her down on the table and grind into her till she was screaming in wanton pleasure. 

 

Sansa met his eyes and gasped with a shiver of anticipation at the wild look of lust that had took over her Sandors eyes.

 

Sandor turned away and started towards the door. "Wait!" Sansa cried out desperately, "where...where are you going?" She moved forward, a little frantic.

 

He grasped the door, and slowly slammed it shut, barring it with one quick motion.

 

"Not going anywhere Little Bird and neither are you," he growled in a steel rasp, turning around looking at her, like he was going devour her whole.

 

He started undoing the buckles on the assorted daggers and bits of armour he wore, dropping the pieces where he stood. He glanced briefly at Sansa and noticed her just standing there, watching him, her mouth slightly agape and her breath starting to sound ragged.

 

"Might be you better figure out what you want more, Little Bird, your dress or the lemon cakes, because if one of them is not out of the way, I'll be quickly taking care of it for you," he snarled at her, reaching around his extra wide shoulders and released his great sword, letting it crash to the floor.  

 

Sansa looked at the platter of lemon cakes, a panic in her eyes, then looked down at the simple woollen dress she was wearing. She looked back to him and proceeded to pick up the platter of lemon cakes rather quickly and put them up on a shelf, as Sandor was already done with his armour and whatnot and had ripped off his tunic exposing his rather large, chiseled chest, a spattering of thick, black hair covered it and a trail led down the hard muscles, disappearing beneath the strained laces of his worn breeches. He started to slink towards her with a wicked glint in his eyes.

 

 "The seamstress is not going to be happy with another ripped dress, Sandor" she scolded breathlessly, as he grabbed her arms and started walking her backwards towards the tall, sturdy table.

 

"Fuck the dress," he said mockingly, "and fuck the seamstress"

 

"Sandor!" she gasped, horrified.

 

In one fluid motion, he lifted her up and set her arse down on the table and proceed to rip her dress open, her breasts tumbling out, eager to jump into his large hands. He bent down not being able to resist the temptation of licking the sticky sweet trail left by lemon zest. He continued the trail down to the powdery sugar that dusted across the tops of her breasts. He did not stop until Sansa started pulling at his hair, forcing him to leave and be engulfed by her addictive lips. Sansa scooted herself up and as close as she could, wrapping her long legs around his waist, fisting her hands in his dark hair and grinding her lips onto the scarred ruin of his mouth. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, and she moaned as the sensation of sugar and lemon intertwined with the taste of his tongue. 

 

Sandor lived for Sansa's kisses, to him nothing was more intimate or surrendering than the power she held over him in these moments. He learned a time ago that replacing his need for wine with the power of her sweet kisses and her unwavering devotion had made him a better man. He had took each kiss she ever gave him and tucked it away into his once bitter heart, slowly over time they had wormed their way so deeply into he knew he could never live without them. Sandor slowly pulled away, his breathing was left to a ragged rasp. Sansa pulled harder on his hair, demanding him to come back to her mouth. He surrendered once again until he felt that he was going to topple over her. He firmly grabbed her arms, forcing her to release the grip she had on his hair. 

 

She cupped his black, scarred cheek, resting her forehead on his, her heart beating so hard she could feel every pulse point on her body throbbing. 

 

Sandor sat her down once again and ran his hands down her arms, pulling off the sleeves of the ruined dress as he went. Sansa lifted her cheeks off the table assisting him as he removed the rest of the tattered garment. He dropped it to the floor and sucked in a deep breath. He looked down at his Little Bird, her hair now a tousled mess falling over her delicate shoulders, cascading down her pale back, her cheeks aflame, blue eyes closed in heated lust and her lips swollen in agonizing temptation.  She sat there in only her little delicate white bottoms, her woollen stockings ending at her firm thighs. 

 

He could not hold back any longer, he bent down scooping her up with one large arm and captured a perk nipple between his teeth, nipping at her till she was squirming out of his arm. He lazily dragged his tongue over to the other nipple, reinforcing his grip on her, giving her pert little arse a tight squeeze. Sansa started a low moan, her head falling back, gripping his shoulders so hard, leaving bruises. He tantalizingly kissed her more slowly, up her neck, gently pulling her hair back forcing her head to tip back even more.

 

Sandor cupped his hands once again around her firm bottom, started trailing long lavish kisses down the front and sides of her waist, going up and down, his hooked nose brushing against the soft, velvet skin that was stretched across her ribs. Sansa was now quivering wantonly, her body starting to weaken against the work of his wicked tongue. 

 

Sandor suddenly stopped, and looked into her eyes, his eyes dark and intense. "Stand up now, Little Bird" he ordered her as he leered at her swollen lips, his eyes travelling down to her heaving breasts and finally stopping when he reached her pulsating woman's place. "Might be I want a taste of your lemon cake," he rasped hoarsely.

 

Sansa gasped, but obeyed and scrambled to stand on the table that was covered in smears of sugar and flour and bits of lemons. 

 

Sandor stepped back for a split second admiring the sight before him and then grasped her thigh and started to pull her stockings off, one at a time, slowly trailing small kisses down her legs to her small feet. Sansa reached to him and placed her hand on his magnificent chest, bracing herself. 

 

"Now for the best part," Sandor panted, as he pulled her bottoms off, and threw them behind him. He grabbed one of Sansas long legs and drew it over his strong shoulder, his burned cheek rubbing against her thigh. "Sing your pretty song for me," he muttered and grabbed her waist and plunged his tongue between her soft, wet folds and worked his magic. 

 

Sansa came undone, she fisted her one hand in the hair that covered his scars and placed the other on his shoulder. She started moaning softly, gradually getting louder, her release on the brink of exploding as Sandor's mouth worked long and hard, lavishing her with hot licks and gentle nips. 

 

Sansa was just about to climax when Sandor pulled away. He started pulling his boots off in anticipation of what was going to happen next and suddenly he tripped over himself and started falling forward. He threw his hand down on the table to catch himself and in the process smashed the little lemon cake he had previously abandoned into a pile of sticky, gooey crumbs. "Fuck!" he swore angrily as he glanced around hurriedly looking for something to wipe his hand off. Sansa looked down and suddenly she grinned wolfishly. 

 

Sansa sat herself down on the table in front of Sandor and grabbed his arm, and pulled his hand towards her mouth. "Please Ser, let me take care of that mess," she said licking her lips eagerly. Sandor looked at her in surprise, she never called him that anymore, knowing how much he hated that title. She glanced at his face, her eyes dancing, knowing full well how much he hated Sers.

 

 Sansa brought his long, calloused fingers to her mouth and slowly started licking the sticky mess off. While Sandor had a sharp, wicked, impatient tongue, Sansa had a patient, soft, playful tongue. She took her time and sucked his fingers deep and swirled her tongue around, up and down, not letting a single tasty morsel go to waste, enjoying every second more at the sound of Sandors tortured groans. When she was finally done with her teasing play, she looked up to him and scooted back on the table, opening her legs and gesturing to him, "Now Ser, finish what you started."

 

Sandor stepped out of his breeches, frantically kicking them to the side, glad he never put small clothes on. He looked at Sansa laying there in all her wanton glory and thanked the Old Gods silently for this wonderful gift they had bestowed on him. He pulled her forward and leaned down and kissed her soundly. 

 

Sansa responding eagerly. The taste of herself on his mouth no longer bothered her, it seemed so natural sharing these most intimate moments. Finally Sandor could take no more and pulled her forward with rough hands, raising her hips to meet his and slowly pushed his throbbing cock into her.

 

He sucked a breath in, he could feel that the battle to control himself over and started slamming into her, grinding into her, his hands gripping her hips, working her back and forth until he noticed she was matching his strokes eagerly. 

 

"Fuck, you feel so good," he moaned desperately not slowing down. 

 

"Gods, Sandor, don't stop, don't ever stop," Sansa cried out, her fingers gripping at the scarred arms that held her. She felt such an intense emotion at this moment that tears willed up in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, leaving little rivers in the dust of flour and sugar that remained on her. She suddenly slammed into climax, clenching Sandors cock tightly with the walls of her womanhood.

 

Sandor was not far behind her, in four deep, powerful strokes, he spent himself inside her, groaning so loud, he for one second thought they may hear it in the Great Hall. He bent over her, resting his twisted mass of scars on Sansa's heaving chest. He could almost feel her heart pounding through the hole where his ear used to be. Sansa softly stroked his hair, intertwining her fingers gently in it. 

 

"I love you Little Bird," he whispered gently, "you will never know how much you fill my heart," as he lifted his head up and peered into her glistening eyes. Concern filled him instantly as he noticed the tears on her face. He raised himself up on both hands and loomed over her "I have hurt you!" he rasped alarmed. 

 

"No, Sandor," she said gently, softly stroking the hair on his neck, "you could never hurt me, it always feels wonderful with you, just this time it was different, I can't explain it," she explained quiety.

 

Sandor snorted and kissed the tip of her nose and lifted himself off the table. He looked around the room and suddenly realized where they were and what had just taken place and threw his head back and roared with laughter, startling Sansa.

 

"Sandor, what is so funny!" she exclaimed in a shocked voice. 

 

"Wonder what your cooks are going to say when they see what their Lady of Winterfell was cooking up," he barked, with a satisfied grin.

 

"Oh by the Gods, Sandor," she whispered, looking frantically around at the mess of spilled sugar, flour, some broken eggs, a tipped jug of fresh milk that was lying precariously on the edge of the table. "What are we going to do, they will all know what has happened here," she gasped with dismay.

 

Sandor could not stop grinning, nodding towards the door, "Anyone who walked past that barred door would have heard a pretty bird chirping out a loud tune and might know exactly what was going on in here," he rasped, his chest puffed out like a peacock, brimming with smug male pride.

 

Sansa put her head in her hands, and she could not control herself and sat on that table, her shoulders shaking with laughter. 

 

Sandor stared at her. Her legs were dangling and swinging as she sat there, her body shaking with delighted happiness.

 

Sandor slowly pulled his breeches back on, and bent down to pull his boots on. When he was done he picked up her ruined dress, and held it out to her.

 

"Sandor!" she exclaimed frantically, "I can't wear this, it's completely destroyed! Oh by the Gods, what are we going to do!"

 

He looked around and finally his eyes settled on a white table cloth and he strode over and picked it up. "Here Little Bird, wrap yourself in this," he said chuckling.

 

"I can't go through the Great Hall like that!" she exclaimed haughtily. "They can't see me like this!"

 

"Well you could walk through naked, but you would have to deal with a blood bath because I would slaughter any man who dared looked at you, after I ripped their eyes out," he said in a steely tone, gritting his teeth.

 

Sandor threw his long sword over his shoulder without bothering to put on his tunic, and reached out his arm and scooped her up in a fluid motion after she wrapped the tablecloth around her and he quickly grabbed the ruined dress in the other. He left the rest of his armour for one of his bloody squires to pick up.

 

They walked through the Great Hall, Sansa had her face buried in his chest, burning in embarrassment. No one said a word as they saw the fierce look across Sandor's face, just willing someone to say something about his Little Birds rather questionable wardrobe change. He stopped at the seamstress, dropping Sansa's dress at her feet, "Stop gawking and fix this for your Lady," he snapped. "And you," he barked out to the few handmaidens that were staring at them, their eyes wide, mouths agape, "get your arses moving and get a bath drawn up for my Little Bird!"

 

He stalked out of that Great Hall, stopping momentarily, as he heard a loud cheer being lead by no other than his Little Birds, Uncle Brynden, followed by another rousing roar from her fucking banner men and pompous lords. He grinned and looked down at his blushing bird and her scandalized, shocked look and proceeded to climb the stairs leading to their chamber.

 

9 months later.....

 

 Sansa quietly opened her eyes, her arm automatically searching for Sandor, her eyes turned toward the window, the early morning sun capturing her beloved husband and lover and their new, sweet little Lady of Winterfell in its warmth.

 

She watched and listened, her heart soaring at the vision of his large, calloused hand cradling the babes delicate head and him, her beloved Sandor, softly singing with a rasp, _"Gentle mother, strength of woman, help our daughters through this fray, teach us all a kinder way."_  


 

Not wanting to interrupt this tender moment between father and daughter, Sansa closed her teary eyes and smiled. The lure of warm lemon cakes that came wafting under their Weirwood door reminded of her of a moment a passion that resulted in the greatest accomplishment of her life. She snuggled deep into the soft furs, a happy, content Little Bird.


End file.
